


Arcana

by aw_writing_no, morituritesalutant



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s!Clint Barton, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Circus Performer Clint Barton, Clint whump, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, My boy is so soft why do I hurt him like this, Not between Clint and Bucky though, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Tarot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2020-07-30 16:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aw_writing_no/pseuds/aw_writing_no, https://archiveofourown.org/users/morituritesalutant/pseuds/morituritesalutant
Summary: “The Wheel of Fortune: Great forces are at work. Cycles that were set into motion years before will speed up, leading you closer and closer to your inevitable fate.” She picked up the card, and placed it on the photo of Bucky.“He is the center of the wheel, Clint. He is your fate.”ORIt's 1943, there's a war on in Europe, and the only thing The Amazing Hawkeye is shooting is a purple target inside a circus tent.Clint Barton has always known how to draw a crowd, and during one of the Carnival's New York shows he manages to catch the eye of a local soldier. Bucky Barnes is unlike anyone Clint has ever met -- funny, warm, accepting. Clint hardly thinks twice about going behind his brother's back to get drinks with Bucky.It should have been a one night stand; Clint means for it to be a one night stand.  But Clint Barton is a fuck up, and with one panicked decision manages to lose everything he holds dear and somehow set into motion a chain of events that will link him and Bucky together for decades.





	1. Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the WHRBB. I cannot thank my artist Tanaqui enough -- this has been the MOST excited I've been to write in forever. 
> 
> Words by: aw_writing_no  
Art by: morituritesalutant
> 
> All the love to clintobarto for beta-ing!

_ One of the Major Arcana, and the most misunderstood card in the deck. Rarely associated with actual death, this card signifies new beginnings, new cycles set in motion that change the course of your life. Your old self must die, so that your new life can begin. _

* * *

Clint closed his eyes behind the blindfold, taking a deep breath as he drew his bow. He released on his exhale, then rapidly drew another arrow from his quiver. One, two, three shots. 

Even with his dulled hearing, he could tell the applause was less thunderous than usual. The crowd had been thin before he even stepped into the ring -- something about wartime made people less inclined to go to the circus. Still, he whipped off the blindfold with a flourish and bowed. Katya stepped away from the board, where the three apples she had been balancing on her head and shoulders were pinned neatly against the wood. 

“The Amazing Hawkeye!” The Ringmaster shouted, making his way back to the center of the ring. “Descended from Robin Hood himself, he is the greatest archer the world has seen in nearly five hundred years. If you weren’t already in awe of his aim, watch as he shoots while soaring through the air!” Katya took Clint’s bow and quiver from him. 

Clint climbed the ladder near the edge of the tent, rolling his shoulders as he reached the top. Then he leapt, catching the trapeze with ease, and did one full rotation around it before hanging from his knees. He held out his arms to Katya, who threw him four arrows followed by his bow. Clint held three of the arrows between his teeth as he lined up his shot. 

He released the first arrow while upside down, not stopping to watch as it buried itself in the bullseye. He began to move back and forth, causing the trapeze to swing in a wide, pendulous arc. He took his second shot when the trapeze what as its highest point farthest from the target. As he swung back down, Clint used the momentum to flip upwards, landing with his feet on the bar and one hand on the ropes. He took a moment to steady himself, then fired his third arrow. 

Clint’s final shot was taken mid-air as he flipped off the trapeze. He landed with a wide grin, gesturing to the target where all four arrows clustered tightly in the bullseye. 

“He’s done it again!” The Ringmaster roared, grabbing Clint by the wrist and raising his arm triumphantly into the air. “The Amazing Hawkeye, everybody!”

Clint took another bow, pleased that the crowd was cheering loudly enough that he could hear them clearly. A shrill whistle cut through the air, and Clint turned to find the source. His eyes fell on a soldier in his dress uniform, fingers held between his lips as he whistled again. Next to him, a thin, sickly looking blonde clapped so hard Clint worried his wrists would break under the pressure. 

Clint flashed a grin in their direction, smiling wider when he saw a blush creep across the soldier’s face. _ Interesting. _He winked. The other man licked his lips, then smiled at Clint. 

Clint bowed one last time and left the ring. 

Backstage, Barney twirled an arrow between his fingers. He set it down to sign at Clint as he spoke.

“Crowd loves you.” 

Clint shrugged. “They always do.” 

Barney snorted. “Slim pickings out there. See anyone who might make a good mark?”

“There weren’t any rich ladies lounging in the front row covered in jewels,” Clint said dryly. “There were a couple of soldiers who looked promising though.” 

Barney narrowed his eyes. “Promising as targets, or promising for your other... activities?”

“As targets,” Clint muttered, a flush creeping up his neck. 

Clint was sixteen the first time Barney caught him with another boy. Tommy was a townie from the circus’s most recent stop, a young man with sun-kissed skin and a gap-tooth smile that tied Clint’s stomach in knots. They were kissing in the woods, well out of sight of the clearing where the tent was set up. Tommy had Clint pressed against a tree, one knee slotted between Clint’s thighs as he mouthed along Clint’s neck. Suddenly Tommy was gone, leaving Clint hard and gasping against the tree. 

Barney had hauled Tommy off of him, throwing him onto the ground before kicking him in the stomach. 

“Fucking degenerate,” he spat. Then he had whirled to face Clint and punched him right in the eye. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

Clint had no answer, just stood clutching his face as Tommy scrambled to his feet and ran off. Barney had hit Clint a few more times for good measure before dragging him back towards the camp.

Clint hadn’t been able to shoot for a week. 

Barney was no more accepting now than he had been then; but he at least tolerated Clint once he had figured out he could take advantage of the situation. Many of the men Clint found in their travels were married, and all of them would pay a fine price to keep their affairs secret. 

“I need some air,” Clint announced, making his way out the back. “I’ll be outside if you need me.” 

Barney muttered something under his breath, which sounded something like “I never do” to Clint’s less-than-perfect ears. He decided to ignore it, and exited the tent. 

Clint closed his eyes as the afternoon sun hit his face and sighed. Part of him longed for the crisp, clean air of an Iowa spring. The air in New York felt thick, oppressive. The circus had already been in the city for three weeks, much longer than their usual stint. But the sheer size of the city kept the crowds coming, and the Ringmaster wasn’t one to leave a town before he collected every dime he could.

“-- great aim ---” A voice came from Clint’s left and he turned to face it. The soldier from the audience was sitting on a wooden crate behind the tent, taking a long drag of a cigarette.

“What was that? I didn’t catch it.” 

“I said you’ve got some pretty incredible aim,” the man repeated, standing up to make his way towards Clint. Clint stared at his lips, half in an attempt to better understand him and half imagining what they would feel like beneath his tongue. 

“Thanks,” Clint said.

The man raised his cigarette to his lips again. “Surprised the --- recruited -- sniper.”

“Sorry, can you say that again? I’ve got _ really _ bad hearing.” 

The soldier lowered his cigarette. Raising his voice, he replied, “Guess that answers my question. I said I was surprised the army hadn’t yet recruited you as a sniper.” 

“You don’t have to talk super loud, I just need to be able to see your mouth.” He clenched his hand into a fist when the man immediately licked his lips. “I can usually decipher words if I can read the person’s lips.”

“Well that explains why you’ve been staring at me so intently.”

“Does it?” Clint asked with a smirk. The soldier’s cheeks reddened when Clint held out his hand. “Clint.”

The other man grasped his hand firmly, running a thumb over Clint’s knuckles. “Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. What’s a soldier like you doing in a place like this?”

Bucky laughed, squeezing Clint’s hand a final time before dropping it. “Just got back from basic, figured I’d use the little pay I got to treat my pal to a good time before I leave.” 

“The tiny guy you were sitting with?”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Bucky said. “But yeah, he got 4F-ed, same as you. Poor guy’s tried to join up at least four times already.”

Clint didn’t mention that you actually had to _ try _ to join the army in order to get 4F-ed -- let the guy think he had actually attempted to be a good person for once in his life. 

“Sounds like a good guy.”

“The best.” Bucky’s voice softened, a small grin spreading across his face as he talked about his friend. Clint’s face must have betrayed some kind of disappointment because he quickly added, “Can’t get girls to pay him any mind, though.” 

“Bet they’re too busy paying attention to you.” Before Bucky could reply, Clint jerked his chin towards the cigarette in his left hand. “Do you have another one of those?” 

Bucky shook his head. “This was my last one.”

“Do you mind sharing?” 

Bucky handed the cigarette over to Clint wordlessly. Clint sealed his lips around the filter in a manner that wasn’t a very efficient way to inhale, but definitely a great way to get a reaction from someone. He glanced at Bucky through his eyelashes. Bucky’s mouth hung open as he watched Clint take a deep drag of the cigarette. Clint passed the cigarette back, only exhaling once Bucky had put it back up to his lips to take another hit. 

A strange sensation shot through Clint’s chest at the sight of Bucky’s lips pressed where his had been moments before, like icy fingers running along the inside of his sternum. They passed the cigarette back and forth, making small talk about the show. Bucky leaned in as Clint spoke, staring a second too long every time Clint took a drag. 

When the cigarette was finally spent, Bucky dropped it to the ground, grinding it beneath his shoe. He kept his eyes fixed on the cigarette, mumbling something Clint couldn’t quite catch. 

“I can’t read your lips when you talk to the dirt.”

Bucky raised his gaze, taking a deep breath before meeting Clint’s eyes. “I asked if you wanted to meet up later, for a drink.”

Clint hesitated. “You know a place?”

Bucky nodded. “There’s a place around here that’s very.. understanding. Welcomes all kinds.” He bit his lip, his eyes roaming Clint’s face as he waited to see if Clint understood what he meant. 

And Clint, Clint understood instantly. And more than that, he _ wanted _, wanted a drink with Bucky more than he had wanted anything in a long while. The kind of place Bucky referred to meant not having to hide. 

Clint felt like he was in free fall, the world spinning around him like he was flipping through the air for his act. All he had to do was take the shot. 

“I’d love to,” Clint said.

Bucky’s smile was blinding. _ Bullseye _. 

Bucky told him how to find the place, promised to meet him at seven o’clock sharp. He glanced around, but the show was still going and there was no one in sight. He squared his shoulders, then reached out briefly to touch Clint’s cheek. 

“See you tonight, Clint,” Bucky said. Then Bucky spun on his heel, whistling as he went.

Clint paused before entering the tent. The thought of seeing Barney after the conversation with Bucky stopped him cold. The familiar dread twisted deep in his gut. _ What had he just done _? 

He shook his head. Fuck Barney and his extortion. Fuck guilt, fuck doubt. 

Fuck everything but the hope that bubbled up in the back of his throat, escaping his lips in a soft chuckle that he stifled with a hand over his mouth. 

Tonight he was going to do something for himself.

* * *

Clint hesitated outside the door. Four hours ago, this seemed like an amazing idea -- meet a cute guy, go out for a drink. It seemed simple, normal. Like the dates Barney would go on with local girls. But standing outside an unmarked door, hand hovering an inch off the wood to do the precise knock Bucky had taught him, Clint felt anything but normal. 

The whole thing was secretive, dirty.

Fuck, what was he doing?

“Hey,” a voice said in his ear. “What’s a guy like you doing here?” 

Clint acted on instinct, spinning on his heel to drive away whoever was making assumptions about a guy like him in alleys like this. His fist connected with bone before he ever even saw the threat. 

Bucky stumbled away from him, clutching his jaw. “Fuck!”

“Shit!” Clint said, rushing towards Bucky. “Are you okay? Bucky, I’m so sorry!” He stopped himself from reaching out and grasping Bucky’s shoulder. Well. He had ruined that exceptionally quickly.

Bucky began to laugh, wincing slightly as he rubbed his cheek. “That’s what I get for sneaking up on a deaf guy I guess.” 

Clint paused. “You’re.. not mad?” 

Bucky shook his head. “You reacted on instinct. Can’t really be mad about that.”

Clint gave him a small smile. 

“Ready to go inside?” Bucky gave Clint a hopeful grin.

“Definitely,” Clint said.

Bucky raised his fist and knocked on the door, three quick taps followed by a long pause, then four slow pounds against the wood. There was a moment of silence, then the door creaked open.

“Yes?”

“Hey Sal, we’re here for a drink,” Bucky said, flashing what, Clint was sure, was his most charming smile. He noticed how Bucky kept his face angled towards Clint, even when he was talking to the man behind the door.

_ Sweet _ , Clint thought, his breath catching in his throat. _ He’s sweet _.

“James, good to see you again. Who’s we?”

Bucky gestured towards Clint, who gave Sal a small wave. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Clint. 

“Where do you come from, boy?” 

“The circus,” Clint replied. 

Sal scowled. “James, if you’re going to bring new people around, they can’t be liars. I need to know who’s coming in, and I don’t trust smartasses who don’t share details about themselves.”

“He is being honest,” Bucky insisted. “He’s traveling with the Carson Carnival.” He waited for Sal to reply, but after a moment of silence he continued, “C’mon Sal. Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”

“No,” Sal said. “No, you’re one of the honest ones. Fine. On your head be it.” He stepped back to let Bucky and Clint inside. He wagged a finger in Clint’s face. “I’ll be watching you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, then reached back to tangle his fingers through Clint’s. For a moment Clint nearly recoiled, nearly yanked his hand away. But he fought the instinct and squeezed Bucky’s hand as he led them down a poorly lit stairwell. _ It’s safe _ , Clint reminded himself. _ You’re safe here. _

They stepped into a dark room, and Clint blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted. Straight across from them was a large mahogany bar, a quarter of the seats filled. There was a wall with several booths, a smattering of tables. Soft jazz filtered through the air -- although, Clint supposed, he wouldn’t know if the music were loud or not. To the left there was a dance floor. Clint swallowed when he saw several pairs of men dancing together, as well as one pair of women who were gazing into each other’s eyes like the rest of the room didn’t exist. 

“Oh,” he breathed, causing Bucky to turn and look at him. “I’ve never been someplace like this.”

For a moment Bucky looked panicked. “Is this -- I, I thought --”

“No, I knew what this would be,” Clint interrupted. “I just... I’ve never been some place I didn’t have to hide.”

Bucky’s eyes softened and he gave Clint a small smile. “Yeah, this place is really something. Why don’t you get us a booth, and I’ll order some drinks.” He gave Clint’s hand a final squeeze, then left him to make his way over to the bar. 

For a moment Clint couldn’t move, his gaze sweeping over the room as he tried to take it all in. 

_ This is wrong _ , a voice that sounded awfully like Barney hissed somewhere in his mind. _ Look at all these fucking degenerates. _

Clint shook his head. _ You’re not going to do this, _ he thought, yelling in his head as if that would make any difference. _ You don’t get to do this to me tonight _. 

The voice didn’t reply. 

Clint took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders to try and relax. He realized he had been standing near the entrance for nearly a full minute. He shook his head once again, as if to shake loose any more intrusive thoughts, then made his way over to one of the booths. He settled in, picking one as far away from the speakers as possible. 

Bucky slid into the booth not long after Clint, pressing a glass of amber liquid into Clint’s hand. 

“Forgot to ask you what you liked,” Bucky said, “So I just got two of what I like and figured I would polish that off if you weren’t a fan.” 

Clint laughed. “You’re so thoughtful.”

“Extremely generous,” Bucky agreed. God, his smile really caused something to stir deep in Clint’s stomach. Like his guts were a trapeze and the acrobats were having the time of their lives spinning and flipping. 

Clint took a tentative sip. It was surprisingly flavorful, only tasting like a hint of alcohol and not burning Clint’s tongue like the moonshine they usually had in the circus. It was smooth, smokey. Bucky’s grin widened as Clint took another, larger sip. 

“What is it?”

Bucky cocked his head. “You’ve never had whiskey before?”

“No,” Clint said. He shot Bucky a sly smile. “So, James?”

Bucky sighed, a tad dramatically if Clint was being honest. “It’s my first name. I figured using it here would add just a bit of anonymity.”

“And you’re middle name is... Bucky?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, pleasure to meet you.” He held a hand out to Clint, who grasped it with a large smile.

“Clint Barton. You haven’t earned the rights to my middle name yet.”

“That’s rude,” Bucky said, but his smile undermined his hurt tone. 

Clint shrugged and changed the subject. “I see you’re out of your army greens. That’s kind of a shame, I’ve always liked a man in uniform.”

“I see you’re out of your Amazing Hawkeye get-up,” Bucky shot back.

“The purple tends to attract attention.”

“So do army greens.”

Clint nodded, conceding the point. “Well uniform or not, you still look good.”

And he did. _ God _, did Bucky look good. His white button-down shirt fit him well, clinging to his arms but just loose enough around the chest to leave Clint wondering what exactly was happening underneath. Suspenders hooked over his shoulders, and a loose blue tie hung around his neck.

Clint glanced down at his own clothes, suddenly self conscious. The shirt was one of Barney’s, a bit threadbare and far too tight around Clint’s shoulders and biceps. Hopefully tucking in the shirt hid the missing buttons near the bottom. He had no tie, no suspenders to keep his pants up. 

He felt unworthy of the man sitting across from him.

But Bucky’s gaze roved over Clint’s torso like he was hungry for him, and he licked his lips as his eyes fell on Clint’s arms.

“You look good too,” Bucky said. “Really good.” 

The corner of Clint’s mouth quirked up slightly. “Don’t have much need for fancy clothes in the circus.”

“Hey,” Bucky said quietly, leaning over the table to grasp on of Clint’s hands. “I meant that. Your clothes are fine. I just got a bit nervous and put on the nicest thing I owned.”

Clint laughed at that. “Hoping to make an impression?”

“Please, I’ve already made one,” Bucky said, letting go of Clint’s hand to lean back against the booth. “Here.” He loosened his tie, pulled it over his head, then undid his top button. “Now we’re both a little less fancy.” 

Clint couldn’t look away from the additional three inches of skin that had been exposed when Bucky undid that button. “Sure, less fancy.”

“Eyes up here, Hawkeye.” 

Clint tore his gaze away from Bucky’s throat to meet his gaze. “Sorry.”

“Do I look upset?”

Clint studied Bucky’s face. “No. No, you look rather pleased with yourself.”

Bucky grinned. “I suppose I am, a bit.” He took a long sip from his drink. “So, tell me how you ended up in the circus.”

And Clint did. He glossed over some of the details, leaving out black eyes and broken arms, a dead mother and an angry father who always seemed to find alcohol even when it was supposed to be illegal. Instead he talked about Barney waking him in the middle of the night, about how desperately they had to lie to convince the Ringmaster to let them stay. When Bucky asked about how he got into archery, Clint told him the truth. That his mother used to read him tales of Robin Hood and his merry men. That he snuck into Trickshot’s tent to steal his bow and arrow, and he had only avoided a beating because he had managed to hit the target, near the bullseye, on his first try. How every moment thereafter he was trained to be in the spotlight.

He left out the part where Barney was taught to work behind the scenes, stealing wallets and jewelry while the crowd was mesmerized by Clint.

“My life is infinitely more boring than yours,” Bucky laughed when Clint finally stopped talking. Clint grinned.

“Tell me anyway? After I get these drinks.” Clint stood, then without thinking walked around the table to press a kiss against Bucky’s cheek. Then he fled to the bar, not waiting to see how Bucky would react. 

When he came back with two whiskeys, Bucky had moved further into the booth. He gestured for Clint to come around to his side of the table. Clint’s cheeks flushed as he slid in next to Bucky.

Their legs had barely pressed together when Bucky suddenly moved back. “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s going to be hard for you to see my lips from that angle.”

_ He’s sweet _. “We’re close enough that I should be able to manage. You may need to repeat some things for me, though.” 

Bucky’s smile had a feral edge to it. “I can do anything you need,” he said. A slight chill went up Clint’s spine.

“Tell me your story.”

And Bucky did. He told Clint about growing up in Brooklyn, about befriending a troublesome little blonde who couldn’t seem to stay out of a fight. About all the assholes he had to beat up in alleys to keep Steve safe, the jobs he took to pay for medications.

Clint couldn’t look away from Bucky’s face, from the fond smile he wore any time he mentioned Steve.

“He sounds like a good guy,” Clint said. “He’s important to you.” 

Bucky nodded. “He’s like a brother to me.” 

Clint froze for a moment, thinking of Barney, of what Barney would think if he ever found out what Clint was doing tonight.

Bucky reached out to touch Clint’s face. “What is it?” he asked.

“Does... does Steve know?”

Bucky didn’t need Clint to clarify. He rubbed his thumb across Clint’s cheekbone. “Yes, he knows.” 

“And, is he... does he --” 

“He told me nothing changed,” Bucky said. “He’s been nothing but supportive. Only protests a little when I drag him out on double dates with girls to keep up appearances.” Bucky gestured to the bar around them. “He’s even come here with me before.”

Clint swallowed and nodded, his eyes moving away from Bucky’s gaze. He heard Bucky say something, but the words slid away before he could comprehend what they meant. 

Bucky grasped Clint’s chin, forcing his gaze upwards. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“You’re so lucky,” Clint whispered. He hated the way his voice quivered, hated the way Bucky’s brows drew together. “Your Steve...” His voice trailed off. 

“You don’t have someone like that,” Bucky stated. “Your brother isn’t like that?”

Clint shook his head. Bucky sighed and put an arm around Clint’s shoulder, pulling him close against his chest.

“You deserve someone who accepts you, for everything you are,” Bucky said, directly into Clint’s ear. Close enough that the words rang clearly and Clint could feel Bucky’s breath against his skin. “I’m sorry your brother isn’t more like Steve.”

“Barney’s all I have,” Clint mumbled into Bucky’s shirt. He closed his eyes, refusing to let the tears that were building to spill over. “He’s all I have and he thinks I’m an abomination.” 

Bucky pushed Clint away from his chest, grasping Clint’s face firmly in his hand. “Look at me.”

Clint hesitated a long moment before opening his eyes. When he finally did, Bucky was staring at him intently.

“You, Clint Barton, are _ not _ an abomination.” Bucky’s voice was unwavering. When Clint tried to look away, Bucky jerked his face back towards him. “You’re just a person, and a good one. Who you want to be with won’t change that.”

“You don’t know me,” Clint said. A single tear ran down his cheek, and Bucky swiped it away with his thumb. “I’m not a good person.”

“Call it intuition,” Bucky said. He leaned forward to kiss Clint’s cheek, and Clint gasped as he felt Bucky’s tongue dart out to taste the tears he’d been trying so hard to contain. Bucky’s mouth trailed down Clint’s face, along his jawline, before pressing a light kiss against Clint’s lips. He pulled away before Clint could react. 

“Come on,” he said, shoving Clint out of the booth. Clint stumbled, nearly hitting the ground before Bucky caught him by the collar. 

“Sorry!” Bucky said. He hauled Clint to his feet, then pulled him forward so that their chests were flush against one another. Clint’s heart hammered in his chest, hard enough that he swore Bucky could feel it. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered again, gazing up at Clint. Clint felt his stomach twist again when he realized he was actually several inches taller than Bucky. The other man was just so magnetic, so commanding that he seemed to take up the entire room. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint panted. He reached up to swipe the last tear off his face. “Totally understandable that you don’t want a carny crying on your shit.”

Bucky laughed. “That’s not it at all. It’s just...” He trailed off for a moment, focusing somewhere over Clint’s shoulder. “I just ship out the day after tomorrow, and I promised to spend tomorrow with Steve. So if all we have is tonight, then let’s spend it dancing.”

Clint let out a noise that was half laugh, half sob. “I would love that.”

Bucky grabbed Clint’s hand and pulled him towards the dance floor. “Come on, Hawkeye. Show me your moves.”

“It’s hard to dance when you can’t hear the music.”

Bucky’s smile was soft. “Then I’ll lead.” 

“I’m not sure I even know how to follow.”

“It’s easy. Just put your arms around me.” Bucky stared up at Clint expectantly. Clint returned the hopeful smile, and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders.

Clint had no idea if they were moving correctly to the music. Around them couples would twirl and swing, but they just continued to sway. Bucky seemed to be caught up in Clint, unable to hear the music, to catch the changes in rhythm and tempo. They were dancing to a melody all of their own. 

Clint leaned down to rest his forehead against Bucky’s. He closed his eyes and sighed.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, wrapped up in each other as the world moved around them. Clint only opened his eyes again when he felt Bucky shift away from him. A small frown played across his face. 

“What’s wrong?” Clint asked.

“Absolutely nothing.” Bucky reached up to cup the back of Clint’s neck, pulling him down until their lips met. 

There was nothing hesitant in Bucky’s kiss. His lips pressed firmly against Clint’s and parted the moment Clint moved against him. Clint groaned as Bucky’s tongue slipped inside, sliding against his. 

For a moment Clint was sixteen again, standing breathless in front of gap-toothed boy who was promising him the world. Before the guilt, before the awareness that there was something inherently wrong with him. Because there was nothing wrong with the way Bucky licked along the seam of Clint’s lips, with the way Bucky surged after him when Clint briefly paused to breathe.

Finally Bucky pulled away, panting. “Come home with me?”

“Yes, please.” 

Clint didn’t hesitate to follow Bucky out the door, didn’t falter as they carefully walked several steps apart down a Brooklyn street.

For the first time since he was sixteen, Clint felt right. 


	2. Ace of Pentacles, Inverted

_The Ace of Pentacles is associated with new beginnings and opportunities that will lead to great personal success. Inverted, it indicates a missed chance, or a squandered opportunity._

* * *

Bucky led them to a run-down apartment building about fifteen minutes away from the bar. Clint followed him inside, then up a wooden staircase that creaked with every other step they took. Bucky finally stopped outside an apartment at the end of the hall on the third floor. 

Bucky glanced around the hallway, ensuring they were alone. Then he grabbed Clint by the biceps and whirled him around, pressing him against the wooden door. He kissed Clint thoroughly, hungrily. Clint’s stomach clenched; at any moment a neighbor could pop their head out their door and catch them. But at the same time, he was completely lost in the kiss, in the movement of Bucky’s lips against his. 

“Want you so bad,” Bucky growled, directly into Clint’s ear. Clint couldn’t find the words to respond, and just whined softly.

Suddenly the door opened, and Clint fell into the apartment. The air left his lungs as his back slammed against the hardwood floor, Bucky landing solidly on top of him. 

“Oh,” Steve said, peering down at them with a smirk on his face. “You’re home early.”

Bucky laughed and pushed himself off of Clint. He grasped Clint’s forearm and hauled him to his feet. “Wasn’t expecting you to be here, punk.” He motioned to Clint. “Steve, Clint. Clint, Steve.” 

Clint was uncomfortably aware that he was still half-hard in his pants as he held out his hand for Steve to shake. Steve was either unaware of his predicament or resolutely ignoring it. 

“You know, I thought Bucky was pulling my leg when he said he managed to get a date with the Amazing Hawkeye.” Steve spoke clearly, his face angled upwards so Clint could read his lips. Clint was nearly an entire foot taller than him, and had to stop himself from bending over to try and hear Steve better. 

Clint’s cheeks burned. He opened his mouth, ready to protest, ensure Steve that it was absolutely _ not _ a date. Then he remembered Bucky’s legs pressed against his, Bucky holding him as they swayed to music Clint couldn’t quite hear. He turned to Bucky, unsure of what to say.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Give the guy a break, Stevie. He’s not used to people understanding our situation.”

Steve winced. “Sorry, Clint. I’m used to being able to joke with Bucky.”

Clint shrugged. “S’okay, I guess.” 

Bucky nudged him with his shoulder, giving Clint a small encouraging smile. Then he turned to Steve, holding his gaze for a long moment. Clint swore they were having some kind of silent conversation. Steve broke into a wide grin after Bucky arched an eyebrow at him. 

“You know I just remembered,” Steve said, walking over to the door to grab his coat, “I’ve got tickets for that new picture they’re showing at the cinema.”

“They show movies this late?” Clint gasped as Bucky drove an elbow into his ribs. “Oh, right, what do I know about movies? I’ve never been to one.” 

Bucky stared at him. “You’ve never been to a movie?”

“Carny,” Clint replied. 

“Anyways,” Steve interjected, “I’m going to go see my movie. Have fun you two.” He winked at Clint on his way out. 

Clint stared at the closed door. “I’ve never met anyone like that.”

“Tiny, pale, so stubborn it makes me want to scream?” Bucky’s tone was playful as he moved to put his arms around Clint.

“No,” Clint said, shaking his head. “Someone who was just... completely accepting of who we are.” 

Bucky nodded, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against Clint’s cheek. “Everyone should be more like Steve. Stay here, I need some water.” 

Clint watched Bucky walk into another room, then went to settle on the couch. He couldn’t stop glancing around, at the four solid walls, the furniture. The sketchbook and pencils strewn across the floor, the book open to a half-finished drawing of some birds perched on a fire escape. Pictures of Bucky and Steve hung on the far wall. 

Clint wondered what it would be like to be settled. To own more than just the things he could stuff into a bag at a moment’s notice. Clint could barely remember what it was like to live in a house; he had no memory of what it was like to have a home.

He wondered what it would be like to settle down with someone like Bucky.

Clint buried his face in his hands and groaned. God, _ one _ person showed him a hint of acceptance, and suddenly he was imagining a world where he wasn’t broken. Where he wasn’t an abomination.

_ Soft _ , Barney’s voice whispered. _ You’re too fucking soft Clint _. 

“You okay?”

Clint lifted his head to see Bucky standing across the room, a glass of water in each hand. His brows drew together as he watched Clint on the couch.

“I’m good,” Clint said. He paused, then sighed deeply. “No, I’m not. Meeting Steve was hard.” 

Bucky set the glasses of water on the table, then joined Clint on the couch. He angled his body towards Clint, and reached out to cup Clint’s cheek. 

“I’m sorry you’re overwhelmed,” Bucky said. “We can stop now if you want. Get you back to the circus. Tonight’s already been pretty perfect in my book.”

Clint’s lips fell open. He searched Bucky’s face, looking for any hint of a lie. But Bucky’s expression was open, earnest. His smile felt like a punch in the gut.

It took a moment for Bucky’s words to sink in; Clint was convinced he had heard him wrong. It sounded like Bucky was saying that a night of talking with Clint, of holding each other close while Clint repeatedly tried not to trip over their feet, was enough. That Clint being hesitant hadn’t driven Bucky away. 

Clint couldn’t remember the last time someone had liked him for _ him _. Crowds loved the Amazing Hawkeye, not Clint Barton. Most men didn’t even ask for his name -- they just liked him on his knees.

Something bloomed deep within Clint’s chest. Shock, or maybe hope. 

“It hasn’t been perfect for me,” Clint whispered. He could feel Bucky pulling away; he grasped Bucky’s wrist firmly, then turned to press a kiss against his palm. “At least, it isn’t perfect yet.” 

Clint leaned in towards Bucky, and Bucky surged forward to meet him. Bucky’s lips parted instantly, his tongue licking inside Clint’s mouth. There was nothing hesitant or chaste in the kiss; everything was wet, messy, fueled by the need to _ devour _ one another. Clint groaned as Bucky pushed him back until he was lying across the cushions. Then Bucky laid on top of him, and Clint could feel Bucky’s hard cock grind against his thigh.

“Thank god,” Bucky said. He pushed himself up onto one elbow so Clint could clearly see him speak. “I think I might have gone crazy if you had walked out that door.” 

Clint jerked his hips up, laughing when Bucky moaned.

“You did that on purpose,” Bucky said accusingly.

“So?”

Bucky sat up, straddling Clint’s waist. He unhooked his suspenders and then unbuttoned his shirt slowly, grinning and knocking Clint’s hands away when he reached for him. “So I have to get you back now.” 

He threw the shirt on the floor. Clint’s quickly followed. Then Bucky was on him again, pressing their chests flush together. The feel of skin on skin was intoxicating. Bucky circled his hips slowly, grinding his cock against Clint’s. His kisses were open-mouthed and filthy, but he pulled back every time Clint tried to move faster.

“Patience,” he murmured into Clint’s ear, taking a moment to nip at the earlobe. “I’m going to take my time with you.” 

“Take your time killing me,” Clint panted. He felt a vibration against his throat and assumed Bucky laughed.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, tugging lightly at Bucky’s hair. Bucky pulled away from Clint’s neck to meet his eyes. “You’ll need to get my attention if you’re talking, there’s no way I’ll hear you when you’re doing that.”

“I’ll make sure you hear me.” He brushed a lock of hair off of Clint’s forehead, then kissed him once, quickly. His grin was predatory. “But right now I want to hear you.” 

Clint was certain he blushed all the way down to his chest. “I can’t always tell how loud I’m being.”

“Nobody in the apartment next door,” Bucky assured him. “And I’ll let you know if it’s too much, okay?”

“Okay.” Clint would say anything to get Bucky’s lips back on him. He shifted, impatient. “Keep going?” 

Bucky captured Clint’s lips in his, his tongue dominating as it slid into Clint’s mouth. Clint completely ceded control; he was utterly lost in Bucky. Bucky’s next kiss landed on the corner of Clint’s lips. He mouthed along Clint’s jawline, hot, open-mouthed kisses that left Clint moaning. He felt Bucky smile against the skin of his neck as Bucky began to trail kisses down his throat, along his chest. 

Bucky’s tongue swirled around Clint’s nipple, sucking and licking as Clint’s breathing quickened. Clint gasped when Bucky’s teeth grazed his nipple, nipping at the sensitive skin before soothing it again with his tongue. He kissed along Clint’s chest to repeat his ministrations on the other nipple. 

Clint’s mind filled with static as Bucky continued to move down his body. Bucky traced Clint’s abs with his tongue, occasionally stopping to suck a bruise into Clint’s skin. He pulled back, blowing gently on Clint’s wet skin, making him shiver. 

Bucky looked up at Clint. “Stand up.” Then he pushed himself off of Clint and stood, staring expectantly down at him. 

Clint scrambled to his feet and reached for Bucky. His fingers dug into the other man’s hair as he pulled Bucky against him, kissing him fervently. He felt Bucky’s hand move between them to rub Clint’s cock through his pants. Bucky groaned against his lips. 

Then Bucky’s hand was gone, reaching out to tangle their fingers together. 

“Bedroom,” he said clearly into Clint’s ear. Clint nodded, and let Bucky lead him out of the room. 

Bucky whirled to face him as soon as they were in front of the bed. He immediately reached for Clint, pulling him forward by the waist of his pants and quickly unbuttoning them in one swift motion. He pushed the pants down over Clint’s hips, and ran his hands over the newly exposed skin.

Clint moved to step out of his pants, but they tangled around his ankles, stuck over his shoes. He yelped as he pitched forward and crashed into Bucky, knocking him backwards onto the bed. Clint landed on top of him. 

Bucky burst out laughing, clutching Clint against him as he shook.

“Aw, pants,” Clint mumbled against Bucky’s neck. “No.”

Bucky rolled them over and gazed down at Clint, still smiling. “That’s twice now you’ve fallen down,” he said. “If I hadn’t seen you perform myself, I would never believe you were the guy who shoots arrows upside down.”

“I’m a mystery,” Clint said.

“Well then.” Bucky leaned into kiss him. “Let’s see if you’re a mystery I can unravel.” 

Bucky knelt on the floor by the bed, pulling Clint forward so that his legs hung off the edge. He smiled when Clint pushed himself up on one elbow to watch. He carefully removed Clint’s shoes, setting them to the side, before pulling Clint’s pants completely off. He licked his lips as he stared at the long expanse of Clint’s naked body, stretched out before him. 

Bucky said something Clint didn’t quite catch, even though he could clearly see Bucky’s lips. If Clint didn’t know any better, he would have thought Bucky called him gorgeous. 

Bucky ran his hands along the inside of Clint’s thighs, then leaned in to trace their path with his mouth. Clint trembled as Bucky moved higher, as the kisses became dirtier, as Bucky would nip and suck at his skin before soothing it with his tongue. 

It took Clint a moment to realize he was talking. He could barely hear himself as he whispered _please_ over and over. 

Finally Bucky took pity on Clint and licked a long, wet stripe along his cock. Clint collapsed back onto the bed and groaned as Bucky kissed along the shaft, moving up Clint’s cock at an agonizingly slow pace before sucking the tip into his mouth. He sucked gently, then ran his tongue over the sensitive skin beneath the head.

“You’re killing me,” Clint muttered, closing his eyes to try and concentrate on the sensation of Bucky’s mouth around him. “You’re going to kill me, Bucky.”

There was a vibration around his cock, and Clint could imagine the smug laughter. Bucky gently patted his thigh. _ You’ll survive _, he imagined Bucky saying. And while Clint honestly wasn’t sure he’d make it back to the circus alive, he could die a happy man with his cock between Bucky’s lips. 

Finally Bucky began to move, taking more and more of Clint into his mouth. Clint’s hips bucked unconsciously as he chased the sensation. Immediately Bucky pinned his hips to the bed, his left forearm pressing solidly along Clint’s lower abdomen. 

Clint got the message. _ Stay still _. 

Bucky pressed slightly harder against Clint, pinning him firmly, and that was all the warning Clint got before Bucky hollowed his cheeks and _ sucked _. 

Clint gasped, the muscles of his thighs tensing as he fought not to move. Bucky didn’t give Clint any time to recover; he swallowed Clint’s cock, taking all of Clint until his nose was buried in soft blonde hair. 

Clint pushed himself up on one elbow, suddenly struck by the need to see Bucky, to experience him with multiple senses since his ears couldn’t catch the obscene noises he hoped Bucky was making. Bucky’s eyes were closed, his lips stretched around the base of Clint’s cock. He watched Bucky’s throat as he swallowed around Clint. 

Clint wasn’t much of a reader; he and Barney had run away before Clint got very far in school. Still, he was fairly certain that he could search every book in the English language and never find the words to describe how beautiful Bucky looked on his knees. How could he ever convey the perfect wet heat of Bucky’s mouth around him? Maybe the problem was that there were too many words Clint wanted to attach to this moment, to Bucky. They raced through his mind, threatening to pour out his mouth at once, until finally he settled on --

“Stunning,” Clint gasped, tangling his fingers through Bucky’s hair. The pressure on his stomach lifted, and Bucky opened his eyes to look up at Clint through his eyelashes. “You’re fucking stunning.” 

Bucky pulled back slowly, grabbing the base of Clint’s cock to hold it steady as he swirled his tongue around the head. Then he slid his lips back along the shaft. Bucky ran his hands along Clint’s thighs, his stomach, finally moving beneath Clint to grasp at the curve of his ass. His hands pulled at Clint’s hips, pulling him even deeper into Bucky’s mouth. Clint rolled his hips experimentally.

“Is this okay?” Clint asked. Bucky hummed around his cock and again pulled Clint’s hips towards him. Clint thrust up into Bucky’s mouth, slowly at first, then faster and deeper as they established a perfect rhythm. 

Clint was on fire. He could feel the pleasure building, starting at the base of his spine and radiating out through his limbs. Clint’s entire world narrowed until there was only Bucky, just the perfect tight heat of Bucky’s throat around him. 

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m going to --” 

Bucky tapped on his thigh twice, signaling that it was okay to let go. Clint thrust into Bucky’s mouth once, twice, and then he was coming.

Bucky leaned his head against Clint’s thigh, rubbing a soothing hand over Clint’s hips. He smiled as Clint’s breathing slowly returned to normal and Clint was able to sit up and look at him.

“You still with me, Hawkeye?” 

“Yeah, I’m here.” He reached out to card his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “With you.”

Clint’s hand drifted towards Bucky’s face, and Bucky turned into it to press a kiss against his palm. Then he stood up and moved to join Clint on the bed. Clint moved to make room for him, picking his feet off the floor to lay completely across the sheets. 

“Why do you still have clothes on?” 

Bucky laughed, reaching down to unbutton his pants. He stepped out of them easily, then pulled off his socks. “Someone didn’t get around to undressing me.”

“You distracted me,” Clint said. “It’s not my fault --” Clint’s ability to form words vanished when his eyes finally focused on Bucky. His body was toned; not the egregious muscles of some of the circus performers, or even Clint’s cut arms. The hard lines of Bucky’s body spoke to someone who had worked every day of their life. Clint wanted to trace every muscle with his tongue, follow those lines to Bucky’s hard cock.

“Did I distract you again? You were saying something,” Bucky teased. He eased onto the bed next to Clint, then leaned over to kiss him. 

“Wasn’t important,” Clint mumbled against Bucky’s lips. He cupped the back of Bucky’s head, pulling him closer so that the kiss transformed from gentle to searing. Bucky’s entire body followed. Clint groaned when he felt Bucky’s cock press against his hip. 

The kiss grew heated, open-mouthed and wet, all teeth and tongues and sharp, desperate gasps. Bucky began to move, thrusting against Clint, searching for any type of friction. Finally Clint reached a hand between them and curled his fingers around Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned as Clint began to move. “Fuck, Clint, you feel so good.”

Bucky moaning in his ear, the weight of his cock in Clint’s hand... it suddenly wasn’t enough. Clint wanted something more, wanted Bucky closer than they could get like this.

His hand stilled.

“Clint?” Bucky pulled away from their kiss to peer at Clint. “Is everything okay?”

“Want you in me,” Clint said. The words poured out in one quick rush before his courage waned. 

Bucky’s answering smile was the stuff poets wrote about. Clint had no words, no colorful phrases or clever imagery to describe how _ beautiful _ Bucky was, how that grin felt like an arrow to the chest.

“We can do that,” Bucky said, still smiling. He kissed Clint, gently. “Let me get some stuff.” 

Bucky reached over to open the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out a small foil packet and a tub of Vaseline. Clint’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What are those for?”

Bucky tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Clint blushed. “I’ve never..” His voice trailed off.

“You’ve never done this before?” 

Clint shook his head. 

“Are you sure about this?”

Clint nodded. 

Bucky’s smile was soft. “Okay then. This is to make sure it feels good for you, that it doesn’t hurt.” Bucky leaned down to kiss Clint, then pulled back so he could read his lips. “I’m going to use my fingers first, okay? It will get you ready.”

Clint nodded again.

“You’re in control, okay? Tell me if it hurts, or if you want to stop.”

“I will,” Clint said. “Please, Bucky.”

“Roll over, sweetheart.”

Clint obeyed, rolling onto his stomach. He couldn’t see Bucky like this, couldn’t catch everything that was being said. A hand between his thighs eased his legs apart. Clint closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sensation of Bucky’s hands on his skin. He gasped when a slick finger began circling his hole, then pushed inside.

He had someone _ inside _ him.

The thought was heady, overwhelming. The slide of Bucky’s finger was entirely new, a completely foreign sensation that Clint thought he could get lost in. How had he never done this before?

_ This is wrong _. 

Clint eyes shot open. His face was buried in his arms, and even when he lifted his head all he could see were sheets, the headboard.

There was a reason he had never done this. Doing this with men was _ wrong _. Anything he did with men was wrong but this, this was --

_ This was Bucky _.

_ And Bucky felt right _. 

“I need to see you,” Clint suddenly blurted, pushing off the bed. Bucky pulled out, leaving Clint feeling strangely empty. “Please, I need to see you --”

A hand helped him roll over, and then suddenly Bucky was there, gazing at him with a worried expression. 

“Are you okay?”

Clint nodded. “I just needed to see you,” he said. He didn’t know how to explain it further than that. 

Bucky seemed to understand. His eyes softened and he pressed a quick kiss to Clint’s lips. “I’m right here,” he promised. 

_ Bucky felt right _. 

Clint yanked Bucky to him, kissing him hungrily. He poured everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. Finally he pulled back, and mumbled, “Keep going?”

Bucky nodded, then moved down Clint’s body to get a better angle. From the way he had to rearrange himself and Clint, it was clear this wasn’t an optimal position. But Clint could _ see _ Bucky, prove to himself that Bucky was there.

“Ready?” Bucky asked, eyes meeting Clint’s. 

Clint nodded. 

Bucky re-slicked his finger and circled Clint’s hole again. Time began to blur together as he slipped inside. Clint got lost in the sensation, in the stretch and slide of one, then two of Bucky’s fingers in him. Bucky crooked his fingers, and the sudden shockwave that coursed through Clint would have swept him away entirely if it weren’t for Bucky’s gaze fixed on his. 

Bucky was his anchor, keeping him present, secure, as he repeated the motion again and again. Pleasure coiled in Clint’s stomach; his cock was hard again, precome leaking from the head.

“Please Bucky, I need you, please --” 

“You’ve got me, sweetheart,” Bucky said. He pulled his fingers out, then rolled a condom down his shaft. He coated his cock with more vaseline, then lined himself up at Clint’s entrance.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Bucky pushed into him slowly, his eyes fixed on Clint’s face. Clint held his breath until Bucky was all the way in, then exhaled with a shaky laugh. 

“Okay?” Bucky asked. 

“More than,” Clint said. “It’s just different.”

“Good different?”

“Amazing different,” Clint replied. He circled his hips, gasping as the head of Bucky’s cock nudged that sensitive spot within him. 

“Fuck,” Bucky moaned. He held still as Clint moved again, his gaze roaming over Clint’s face, trying to see how he would react.

“Bucky, _ move _.”

Bucky laughed. “Yes, sir.” His first thrusts were shallow, experimental, like he was seeing just how much Clint could take. Once Clint began to relax around him, he pulled nearly all the way out, then snapped his hips forward, driving his cock deep within Clint.

“Fuck,” Clint gasped. “Please Bucky, I need more.”

Bucky paused, then grasped both of Clint’s knees, hauling them over his shoulders. He surged forward to kiss Clint, nearly bending him in half, then began to move in and out at a relentless pace.

Bucky was everywhere, breathing his air, kissing along his neck, moving _ inside _ him. Clint couldn’t hear Bucky’s gasps, but he could see them falling from his lips. Bucky smelled like whiskey and salt, alcohol and the sweat that was building between their bodies. His body was slick beneath Clint’s hands, the muscles of his back tight with exertion.

Bucky shifted his angle slightly and suddenly Clint’s vision went white.

Clint wasn’t sure if he gasped or yelled, or if Bucky just knew that he had found the right spot. Every thrust sent electricity shooting through Clint, shockwaves that built on one another until his whole body was on fire.

“Bucky, I’m going to --”

Bucky curled a hand around the back of Clint’s neck, resting their foreheads together. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Bucky’s cock thrusting within him, the building tide of pleasure, _ sweetheart _. Clint was overwhelmed, tired and raw and utterly lost in the man before him. Tears stung his eyes as his cock twitched between them, then he was coming.

Bucky kept his forehead pressed to Clint’s as he continued fucking into him, his thrusts growing more erratic with every passing second. 

Clint was babbling again. “You feel so good Bucky, I want _ you _ to feel good. Let me be good for you, I _ want _ to be good, please --” 

Bucky’s fingers tightened, digging into the base of Clint’s skull. “You are good, Clint, so good for me.” He sealed his mouth over Clint’s, thrusting once, twice, then coming with a shudder that ran through his entire body. 

“Fuck,” Clint murmured against Bucky’s lips.

“Yeah,” Bucky said shakily. He pressed a soft kiss against Clint’s cheek, then pulled out of him slowly. Clint felt empty, then cold as Bucky pushed himself off the bed. He watched Bucky wander over towards the bathroom, throwing the condom in the trash before grabbing a towel and bringing it back over to Clint. 

“You might be a little sticky,” he said with a grin. Clint grunted, accepting the towel and wiping the come off his stomach.

Bucky settled back onto the bed, rolling onto his side so that he was facing Clint. Clint turned to face him, smiling as Bucky threw an arm around his waist and tangled their legs together.

“Was that okay?” Bucky’s voice was just loud enough for Clint to hear. His eyes were soft, his gaze roaming over Clint’s face.

“More than okay,” Clint replied. The answer came with no hesitation. Clint had to pause, rolling the thought around in his mind for a moment before realizing he actually meant it. 

“Good,” Bucky said. He pressed his body closer against Clint’s, but kept their faces just far enough apart that Clint could still read his lips. “Thank you.”

Clint’s eyebrows drew together. “For what?”

“For trusting me enough to do this.” Bucky’s voice was hushed, but laden with some emotion Clint couldn’t quite identify. “For letting yourself be happy.”

“Shouldn’t I be thanking you for that?”

Bucky smiled. “There’s no need. I’m glad we had tonight.” His face fell slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Clint reached out to brush a lock of hair away from Bucky’s eyes. Bucky caught his hand, brushing a kiss against the knuckles before entwining their fingers together. 

“It just seems like terrible luck,” Bucky said.

Clint tried not to look offended. “A night with me was terrible luck?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yes it was awful.” He squeezed Clint’s hand. “No, it seems like terrible luck that it will only be tonight. That we only met the night before...”

“Before you leave for the war.”

Bucky nodded, but didn’t speak.

“Are you scared?” 

“Terrified,” Bucky admitted. “It’s just so much bigger than me, you know? Steve always says that every person has the ability to change the tide of the war but... I think I’ll just get lost.”

Clint untangled his fingers from Bucky’s, then lay his hand along his neck so that his thumb could brush Bucky’s jawline. 

“There’s a fortune teller in the circus,” Clint began, “who always says the future is like a river. Some events, or some people, are large boulders in the stream. Their very existence can stop the flow or divert the river in a completely different direction.

Most people, though, are like stones. Alone they would get washed away, but together? Together they can change the entire course of the future.” 

Bucky’s laugh sounded a little wet. “That sounds like something a fortune teller would say.” 

“She’s right though,” Clint insisted. “You’re right too. The war is massive -- even a boulder might not change the course. But a million stones piling up? Eventually one will be added, and that one stone will be all that’s needed to divert everything.

You don’t _ have _ to be a boulder. It’s enough to be a stone.”

Bucky stared at Clint, lips slightly open. Clint shifted under his gaze, wondering if he had overstepped his boundaries, said something wrong. But then Bucky was pulling him into a crushing kiss. Clint felt Bucky’s tears against his cheeks, felt Bucky shaking beneath his hands.

Finally Bucky pulled away. “I take it back,” he said. “It was amazing luck that brought us together. Fate even. You are exactly what I needed before shipping out.”

“Still seems a little unfair that this is all we get,” Clint said. 

“It doesn’t have to be,” Bucky said. “You could write to me?”

Clint blushed and looked away. “I don’t know how.” 

A hand under his chin redirected his face towards Bucky. 

“That’s okay,” Bucky said with a small smile. “You probably don’t need to in the circus. Even if you could, we would both be moving around a lot, no guarantee our letters would actually reach each other.”

“Right.”

“And hey, who knows? Maybe one day the war will be over, and the Carnival will be back in town. We could see each other on the street, or getting a drink at Sal’s.” Bucky paused, rubbing a hand up Clint’s side. “Sometimes people find their way back to one another.” 

“I’d like that,” Clint whispered. 

“Me too.” 

They laid in silence for awhile, until Clint’s eyelids began to droop.

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I use your shower?”

“Sure,” Bucky said, untangling himself from Clint. “Are you going to be coming back to bed after?”

Clint hesitated. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t stay the night.” 

Bucky swallowed. “Right.” 

Clint leaned down to kiss him. “I’ll stay for a little longer after.” 

  
The water was lukewarm, better than they typically got at stops for the circus. Clint stood under the spray, his mind blissfully clear as he ran soap over his body. It was as if Bucky had fucked the tension right out of him. 

He turned the water off and grabbed a towel to dry off with. He wrapped it around his waist as he made his way back to the bedroom. Bucky had moved under the sheet and had propped himself up on one elbow, clearly waiting for Clint.

“I know you can’t stay the night,” Bucky began, pausing as Clint slid under the covers with him. “But do you think...” He trailed off.

“Think what?”

“Could you stay until I fall asleep?” Bucky’s voice was small. He didn’t quite meet Clint’s gaze. 

Clint reached out to pull Bucky against him. He laid on his back, Bucky curled at his side with his head on Clint’s chest. 

“I’ll stay,” Clint said, pressing a soft kiss against Bucky’s hair. Bucky mumbled something against his skin. “I didn’t catch that, love.”

They both froze as the endearment passed Clint’s lips. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean --” 

Bucky planted his chin on Clint’s chest, tilting his face towards Clint. He was smiling. “It’s fine, sweetheart.” 

Clint bit his lip.

“Seriously,” Bucky said. He leaned up to kiss Clint gently. “I liked it.” He pulled back to gaze at Clint. “And what I said was, ‘Thank you, for giving me a final, good night before I leave.’”

“Oh.” The word _ final _ sat in Clint’s stomach like a stone. It tasted metallic and wrong, resonated in Clint’s chest and jostled his rib cage. It was as if Bucky didn’t think there would be any good nights to follow. Like he would be swept away in the war, too far in the darkness to find his way back.

It made Clint want to roll on top of Bucky, press their bodies together so that Bucky could feel the solid weight of him. Clint would kiss along his neck, murmur against his lips that they were alive, they were _ here _. That there really would be a day when the war was over, where they would somehow find their way back to each other again.

Clint did none of that. Instead he smiled wanly at Bucky and said, “Thank you for the _ first _ good night I’ve had in years.” 

Bucky’s expression looked something akin to anger, or maybe grief, before settling into a small, surprised smile. 

“Goodnight, Clint,” he said. Then he turned to settle back against Clint’s chest.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

Clint wasn’t sure how long they laid there, wrapped in one another. There was a period of time where Bucky ran his fingers along Clint’s skin, and occasionally Clint would feel the rumble of Bucky’s voice against his chest. He never asked Bucky to repeat himself, and Bucky never offered to tell him. 

Eventually Bucky’s breathing evened out. Clint lifted his head off the pillow, craning his head forward to look at Bucky. The other man was sound asleep against his chest, open-mouthed and twitching occasionally. Clint smiled. It all felt very... domestic. Normal. 

The kind of thing you could get used to.

Clint let his eyelids flicker shut, just for a moment. He focused on the feel of Bucky against his body, the smell of Bucky’s soap on his skin. He tightened his arms around Bucky, and let himself drift...

_ He was sixteen, and Barney hadn’t spoken to him for three weeks. _

_ It didn’t matter how many times Clint tried to explain, or asked Barney to let him fix it. His brother seemed hell bent on keeping Clint as far away as possible. He didn’t even come back to the tent they shared at night; every morning he would stumble in, smelling like sex and alcohol and refusing to acknowledge Clint. _

_ Until one morning when he finally looked at Clint. _

_ “Was that a one time thing?” Barney asked, without preamble. “Or are you some kind of queer?” _

_ Clint shook. “That was the only time anything has happened.” _

_ “That wasn’t my question.” _

_ “I won’t do it again.” _

_ “But you want to?” _

_ Clint couldn’t meet his gaze, even though he could feel Barney’s eyes burning holes in the side of his face. _

_ “Please don’t hate me,” Clint said instead of answering. _

_ “Fuck, you’re soft,” Barney said with a scowl. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’ve done everything for you, you know that? Protected you from Dad, got you out of the house, into the circus.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “I didn’t do all of that for you to become a fucking degenerate.” _

_ Clint didn’t reply. _

_ “I’ve thought a lot about what to do,” Barney continued. “Try to beat some sense into you. Force you out with women. Leave.” _

_ Clint sat up straight. “Please don’t leave me.” Tears stung the back of his eyes. “You’re the only family I’ve got --” _

_ “I’m not leaving,” Barney interrupted. Clint visibly relaxed. “I came up with a different idea.” _

_ “What is it?” _

_ Barney’s face settled somewhere between perfectly blank and sneering. “I’m sure there’s plenty of queers in the towns where we go.” _

_ “So?” _

_ “So nobody admits to be a degenerate,” Barney said. Clint shrunk into his bed. “If you find someone like you, we blackmail them for it.” _

_ “What?” _

_ “Even if I tried to force you to stop, you’d mess up,” Barney said. “That’s just the kind of person you are, Clint. You’re a fuck up. So this way when you do slip up... we get paid.” _

_ Clint shook his head, opened his mouth to protest. But Barney’s eyes were hard and unyielding. _

_ “Think of it as a tax, for me staying.” _

_ “Okay,” Clint whispered. _

_ Barney stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “You’re still my brother, and I can’t leave you behind. Even if there’s something really fucking wrong with you.” _

Clint opened his eyes.

It took everything in his power not to shove Bucky out of his arms, or bury his face in his hands and scream. It was just like Barney had said -- no matter how much he tried to stay away, to be _ normal _, he always messed up.

Clint Barton was a fuck up. 

He could feel his heart pounding, panicking, as if the weight of Bucky’s head was suddenly enough to cave in his chest. He was trapped, by his own weakness, by Bucky’s arms around him. His breathing quickened, leaving his body in short, ragged gasps. He held his breath when Bucky stirred against him, then slowly exhaled, trying to calm himself.

_ Bucky felt right. _

_ There’s something really fucking wrong with you. _

_ Think of it as a tax for me staying _. 

There was no way in hell Clint could look Bucky in the eye and threaten to use their night together against him. He would shatter beneath Bucky’s gaze.

  
Blackmail was out.

_ You slip up, we get paid. _

Stealing it was. 

Slowly Clint untangled himself from Bucky’s arms, sliding out from beneath him before easing off the bed. He stood, waiting to see if Bucky would wake up. After several seconds of watching Bucky sleep, Clint moved away to gather his clothing. He pulled on his underwear and pants, but left his shoes off so that he could move around in silence. His eyes roamed over the room, looking for anything of value. 

Bucky and Steve didn’t have much. Even if he hadn’t spent the night with Bucky, Clint would feel shitty about stealing from them. 

As it were, Clint was choking down the bile clawing up his throat as he pocketed a gold watch on the bedside table. He opened a drawer, rummaging through clothes, looking for cash, loose change. Nothing. He grabbed the wallet from the pocket of Bucky’s discarded pants, then shuffled over to the bathroom. Several bottles of pills sat on the counter. Clint grabbed them without reading the labels; carnies rarely could afford doctors visits, but would pay a pretty penny for medications. 

Clint scrubbed a hand down his face. There was literally nothing else of value in the room. 

Clint grabbed his shoes and walked towards the bedroom door. He eased it open, wincing slightly when it swung open with a loud squeak.

Bucky didn’t stir.

Clint paused with his hand on the door frame, staring back at Bucky’s sleeping form. He looked utterly at peace. Clint never would have guessed that he was a man terrified to go to war, terrified of losing himself in violence.

_ Thank you, for giving me a final, good night before I leave. _

God, Clint was an asshole. Was he really going to ruin one of Bucky’s last peaceful moments? Betray one of the only people who had ever made him feel right?

_ You slip up, we get paid. _

Clint had to fight the urge to run to the bed, to straddle Bucky and bare his soul. To empty his pockets, lay out the stolen items, expose who he _ really _ was to Bucky. He would pepper Bucky’s face with kisses, beg for forgiveness, understanding. And Bucky would give it to him, because Clint had done the right thing in the end. Tried to be a good person.

Barney would not forgive him.

Clint’s vision blurred. One night with Bucky wasn’t enough to erase a lifetime of owing Barney. A tear rolled down his cheek as he shut the bedroom door behind him. 

Steve was sleeping on the couch. Clint and Bucky’s discarded shirts had been folded and laid on the table. 

Clint Barton was a fuck up. 

He stood there for several moments, watching Steve’s frail chest rise and fall as he slept peacefully, trusting that the man Bucky had let into their lives was honest, good. Trusting _ Clint _. Something stirred in Clint’s gut, a vague sense of recognition. The notion that in some other life, without the circus, without Barney, Clint could belong here. With Steve. With Bucky. That in some other life he and Steve would stand together as Bucky left for the war; together they would wait for Bucky to come home.

In some other life, Steve could be his friend. 

Clint shook his head, trying to shake the ache from his chest, the throbbing behind his eyes. He walked to the table, picking up his shirt that Steve had folded neatly. He shrugged it over his shoulders, then fumbled with the buttons, his fingers shaking. He set his hands on the table, took a deep breath. The shaking didn’t subside.

He turned in place, eyes roaming over the walls, Steve’s sketchbook, tiny knick knacks that had accumulated and covered various surfaces. His gaze finally fell on a pile of photographs on the small table by the couch. He walked softly to the table, each step deliberate, careful not to wake Steve. He shouldn’t be moving further into the apartment -- he needed to run, to leave, to get home to Barney.

But he _ had _ to see.

Clint wasn’t sure any photographs of him existed. Distantly he wondered if anyone at the circus ever captured the Amazing Hawkeye on film, or taken his picture as he wandered through a new town. It was irrelevant, really. But maybe that was why he was so fascinated by the photos of Steve and Bucky. Like the four walls of the apartment around him, the photographs seemed like something permanent, something _ real _. Evidence that they had tread the earth and made an impression on its surface. 

Clint shuffled through the photographs, drinking in Bucky and Steve’s smiles at Coney Island, Bucky laughing at the camera as ice cream dripped down his fingers. Grinned at a candid photo of Steve drawing, tongue out in concentration and charcoal smeared across one cheek. There were photos of Steve with an older woman -- his mother? -- and some of Bucky with his arm slung around the shoulders of a younger girl. 

The last photo in the stack was a close up of Bucky’s face. Even in black and white, he was the most radiant thing Clint had ever seen. His gaze was fixed somewhere to the right of the camera, a slight smirk playing across his lips. There was a cigarette behind one ear.

The photo shook in Clint’s hands. He glanced at Steve, still sound asleep on the couch. He folded the photo in half, then tucked it into his pocket beside the wallet.


	3. Two of Swords, Inverted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Two of Swords shows a person stuck between two equal and opposing forces, needing to make a choice. Inverted, it indicates that there is no right choice, no good outcome -- you simply choose the lesser of two evils.

It was well past three in the morning when Clint snuck into the tent he shared with Barney. He paused once inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before making his way over to his cot. He was just settling onto the thin mattress when he realized the tent was far too quiet, even to his ears. There was no snoring coming from Barney’s side of the tent.

_ Shit _. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

Clint lay down against the threadbare blankets, hoping Barney wouldn’t press the issue and assume Clint simply hadn’t heard him. He shifted, trying to settle when it felt like everything he stole was burning holes in his pockets.

“Clint. Where the fuck were you?” Barney flicked on the lantern between their cots, forcing Clint to look at him and read his lips. 

Clint sat up, sighing. “I was out, Barney.” 

“All night?”

“Yes. I stole some stuff.” Clint placed the gold pocket watch, wallet, and pills on the table, close to the lantern so Barney could see them. He kept the picture folded carefully in his pocket. 

“It took you six hours to lift one wallet and a watch?” Barney narrowed his eyes. Clint was a prolific pickpocket, even though his height tended to make him stick out in a crowd. 

Clint opened his mouth, shut it again. Waited for an excuse to come to mind, but all he could think about was Bucky’s face as he fell asleep.

“Found a soldier I thought would be a good mark. I guess it didn’t pay off like I was hoping it would.” 

Any other day, Clint would have been able to ignore the way Barney curled his lip in disgust. But tonight, he had read acceptance on the face of every person he met at the bar and been welcomed warmly by Steve. Fuck, Clint had spent the entire night watching Bucky look at him like he was the best damn thing he’d ever seen. 

And still Barney’s voice in his head was enough to drive Clint out the apartment, pocketing everything of value as he went.

“Well I hope he had more at home than he did when you found him,” Barney finally said, his voice flat. “Otherwise we won’t be able to use your... _ encounter _ against him.” Barney laid back down and reached over to turn off the light. 

“He doesn’t.” 

“What?” Barney asked. The lantern flicked back on.

“He doesn’t have anything else at home. These were the only valuable things in his apartment.”

Barney propped himself up on one elbow. “You were in his apartment.”

Clint fell into the trap before he even realized he had laid it for himself. “Seemed more efficient, to clean him out in one go,” he mumbled. The lie fell flat between them; Barney had been the one who taught him how to twist the truth until it shattered on its own.

Barney’s nose wrinkled. “You smell like soap.”

“So?”

“Did you shower in his apartment?” Barney must have been close to shouting, because Clint could hear him perfectly. 

“Wouldn’t you take advantage of not having to shower surrounded by eight other people?”

“Cut the shit, Clint! What did you do?”

Clint pressed a hand over his eyes. It was too much. He could still feel the rasp of Bucky’s stubble between his thighs, feel the perfect stretch of Bucky moving inside him. In his mind, Bucky sits up in bed the moment Clint opens the door to leave, hand flying to the night stand to grab for his missing watch. _ What did you do _?

“Nothing,” Clint said, his voice wavering. He couldn’t cry, not in front of Barney. _ Fuck, you’re soft, Clint. _“I didn’t do anything.” 

He kicked off his shoes and got under the blanket, fully clothed. He rolled onto his side, away from Barney, and stared resolutely at the canvas wall until finally the light went out. 

* * *

“What the hell was that?” The Ringmaster followed Clint out the back of the tent, circling around the archer in order to jam a finger into his chest. “You messed up your trapeze shooting. You haven’t gotten that act wrong since you were fifteen.” 

Clint shrugged. “Just adding a little excitement to the show.” He grimaced, remembering how the crowd had gasped when his foot had slid off the trapeze after his third flip. When the Ringmaster’s scowl deepened, Clint continued, “I didn’t fall to the ground, and I still made the shot. What more do you want?”

“I want my star performers to live up to their names. You’re not the Average Hawkeye, or the Mildly Impressive Hawkeye. You’re the Amazing Hawkeye, and the Amazing Hawkeye doesn’t slip.” 

Clint rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. The Ringmaster grabbed Clint roughly by the upper arm; his eyes widened when Clint flexed his biceps, forcing the Ringmaster’s fingers open. 

“Won’t happen again, _ sir _.” 

Barney chose that moment to follow Clint out of the tent. “Man, Clint, looks like your late night really caught up with you. Haven’t seen you fuck up like that in years.” 

The Ringmaster reached up and fisted his hand in Clint’s shirt to yank him down. Clint yelped as he was suddenly face to face with the Ringmaster, forced to read his lips.

“Did you fuck up my show because you went out drinking last night?”

“No!” Clint exclaimed, pushing himself away. He ran a hand down his chest, smoothing the rumpled purple fabric. 

Barney circled around so that Clint could see him speak. “Well, you _ did _ get back at three in the morning.” 

The Ringmaster’s cheeks reddened, his jaw clenched as he assessed Clint. Finally he sputtered, “If you let your life outside the carnival fuck up my show again, it’s going to be the only life you know. We will leave you behind without a second thought. Understand?”

Clint’s stomach dropped. “Yes sir.” 

The Ringmaster stormed away without another word -- at least, without another word that Clint could hear. 

Clint turned to Barney. “Thanks for having my back there.” 

Barney shrugged. “You fucked up, Clint.” His tone made it clear he wasn’t talking about the act. 

“Barney --” 

“You fucked up, Clint,” Barney repeated, louder. He stepped closer, and for a moment Clint forgot that he was an entire two inches taller than his brother; he felt like a cowering child. “What you did last night was wrong.”

“Damn right it was wrong.” 

Clint turned to face the new voice. Bucky strolled towards them, one hand in his pocket while the other swung at his side. His posture seemed relaxed, comfortable even, but his lips formed a thin, hard line as he clenched his jaw.

_ Fuck _.

“Although I’m guessing we probably have different opinions of which part of the night was wrong,” Bucky said. Even though he was talking to Barney, he was staring directly at Clint.

Clint wanted to look away, wanted to retreat into silence and not have to read the anger falling from Bucky’s lips. But he couldn’t tear away his gaze, couldn’t stop fixating on Bucky’s mouth and remembered how it felt against his own.

_ FUCK _. 

“Probably,” Barney drawled. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face around here, you know that?”

“I’m not the one who’s a coward,” Bucky said, his eyes boring into Clint’s. Clint flinched, but didn’t break his gaze.

“Nah, just a pansy,” Barney said. 

Finally Bucky looked away from Clint, turning towards Barney. Clint shifted so that he was slightly behind Barney and able to read Bucky’s lips. 

“You must be Barney.”

“I see my reputation precedes me.”

Bucky snorted. “It certainly does.” He turned back to Clint. “Give me back my things.”

Clint opened his mouth, unsure whether he was going to refuse or simply cave to Bucky’s demands. Barney cut him off before Clint was able to say a word.

“Now why would he do that?”

“Because otherwise I will go to the police.”

“And what will you tell them about the circumstances of the theft?” Barney’s grin was a cruel, ugly thing. “Gonna tell them that you got robbed for being a degenerate?”

“I’ll think of something,” Bucky replied. “And it’s not like Clint will tell them otherwise. He would never say anything that would make him look queer.” 

“Maybe I’d say something,” Barney said. “Maybe not to the police. Maybe your superior officer would be interested in hearing about you.”

Bucky’s lips parted, his eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“I don’t think it would take a lot of convincing for you to be discharged with a little blue sheet.”

Bucky paled. The intensity of his gaze changed. He looked scared, like he was imploring Clint to intervene.

“You would let him do that to me?” 

Clint felt trapped, like dirt was piling on top of him or walls were closing in. There was nowhere to move, run. He fought to take even, measured breaths, trying to counteract his racing pulse. Suddenly he was five years old again, screaming as his dad locked him in a trunk for spilling juice on his magazines. He had been gasping then, heart racing as it was now, convinced he was running out of air.

And then Barney had let him out. 

Barney always got him out. Of the trunk, of their shitty home, of trouble. It was always Barney.

“He’s my brother,” Clint mumbled. 

Bucky’s laugh was sharp, shattering in the air like glass. “Right. Because that makes up for everything he’s done to you.” 

_ For me _ . _ Not to me. _

Bucky took a deep breath. “At least give me back Steve’s medication.” 

“The pills were Steve’s?”

“Of course they were,” Bucky said through gritted teeth. “He’s got a list of medical problems a mile long. After I leave he won’t be able to afford more pills for awhile.” 

Clint could feel his ribs buckling, his chest caving in around his shuddering heart. “Yeah, okay. I’ll go get them.”

“Clint,” Barney said sharply. “You aren’t going to get anything. Those pills are worth more than everything in the wallet.” 

Bucky turned to Barney. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Barney shrugged. “Lot’s of things. But none of them compare to what is wrong with you and Clint.” 

Clint couldn’t move, rooted to the spot by Bucky’s anger, Barney’s disgust. He fought to open his mouth, to defend himself, to contribute _ something _ to the conversation. But his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth, refusing to say anything at all. 

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” Bucky’s voice was steady. “And you know what I think? I think maybe your problem with Clint has less to do with who he wants to be with and is more about the fact that you’re tired of living in your little brother’s shadow.”

“What did you just say?” Barney stepped towards Bucky, his hands clenched at his side. Bucky’s chin jutted out as he defiantly held Barney’s gaze. 

“You heard me. Clint’s the star of the show, gets all the excited fans. Nobody’s chanting your name for lurking behind the curtain. Clint’s the Amazing Hawkeye -- Who the fuck are you?”

Clint should have seen the punch coming, should have predicted Barney’s fist connecting with Bucky’s jaw. As it were, all he could do was watch Bucky stumble backwards, cursing. 

Bucky’s gasp of pain was what finally freed Clint, shearing the roots from his feet so he could finally intervene. He stepped between Barney and Bucky, hoping his size would be enough of a barrier.

Clint held his hands up, trying to create space between them. “Bucky --”

Bucky didn’t stop, stalking towards Barney with his fist raised. “Move. Now.” Clint faltered, just for a moment, but it was enough for Bucky to shoulder past him. 

Clint turned on his heel, wrapping his arms around Bucky to restrain him, then physically dragged him away from Barney. The feel of Bucky’s back against his chest brought back images of the night before, the calm he felt as Bucky fell asleep in his arms. Clint bit his lip to hold back a sob -- the stark contrast of the Bucky from last night with the man who was hissing and struggling against his grasp was almost too much to bear.

“Bucky, stop. Please stop,” Clint said directly into Bucky’s ear, so close he could almost feel skin brushing against his lips. 

Bucky stopped struggling. Still, every muscle of his body was hard, tightened as they pressed against Clint. And Clint, well, he couldn’t see if Bucky was talking. Didn’t know if there was anything left for him to say. 

He couldn’t see Barney like this, with Bucky squarely between them. He took a deep breath, inhaling Bucky’s scent -- a scent he had no right to yearn for, but ached for nonetheless. A scent that was burned into his memory after he gasped against Bucky’s neck last night. 

Even in these circumstances, the proximity to Bucky gave Clint a drop of courage. The tiniest glimmer of something like hope. 

Clint shifted around Bucky, loosening his grip and rearranging his arms so that Clint was almost hugging him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Bucky’s hair. And because he was soft, too fucking soft, the tears he had fought to hold back in front of Barney finally spilled over. 

“I’m so sorry,” Clint repeated, more of a wet gasp than actual words. A tear rolled off Clint’s cheek to splash on the back of Bucky’s neck.

With that single drop, all the fight left Bucky. He sagged back against Clint, who tightened his hold to keep the other man upright. And Clint, Clint had no right to anything this man would give him. No right to forgiveness, no right to any kind of pity. He had no right to the warmth spreading through his chest as Bucky leaned against him.

“Just go. Please.” 

Bucky half-heartedly drove an elbow into Clint’s stomach. Clint immediately dropped his arms so Bucky could step away. 

Bucky turned to face Clint. His lips parted and his brow furrowed, as if he were surprised to see Clint crying even though he had felt the tears on his skin. He held up a hand, for all the world looking like he was going to wipe away one of the tears on Clint’s cheek.

Then he dropped his hand to his side, and his expression hardened.

“So it was all just an act?”

“What?”

“The whole ‘blushing virgin’ business? It was just a ruse to get me into bed and then rob me?” Bucky’s voice wavered around the words _ into bed _, but strengthened by the end of the sentence.

“Please keep your voice down,” Clint begged. If he could hear Bucky clearly, then odds were everyone else in the vicinity could as well. He had no idea if Barney was still listening, and he didn’t have the courage to look and see if he was still there. 

“Answer me,” Bucky said. 

“No,” Clint whispered. 

“You won’t answer me?”

“No, it wasn’t an act.” 

A hysterical laugh escaped Bucky’s lips. “I think that might be even worse.” 

“Bucky, I never meant -- I never wanted to--” 

“So if it wasn’t an act, then what? You let yourself feel free for once and then panicked because you’re not supposed to be happy? Because there’s something wrong with you?”

Clint let out a half-choked sob. He felt as if he were going to collapse, as if his bones had suddenly gone as soft as his heart.

Bucky shook his head. “God, I almost feel sorry for you. I _ would _ feel sorry for you, if you weren’t putting my best friend in danger.” 

Everything that Clint wanted to say -- apologies, promises to bring Steve’s medications back -- stayed locked in the back of his throat. All he could do was meet Bucky’s gaze, digging his fingers into his left forearm as if to physically hold himself together. 

Bucky glanced at the blood blooming beneath Clint’s fingernails. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then looked up to Clint. He tilted his face upwards, ensuring that Clint could read his lips clearly. 

“You were right,” Bucky said. “You’re not a good person.” 

Then Bucky turned and strode away, back straight, head high. So different from the hunched, ashamed way Clint had moved when he tried to sneak out of Bucky’s life. Clint stood there, shoulders shaking, staring at Bucky’s retreating figure until he finally rounded a corner and disappeared from view. 

Bucky never looked back. 

Clint took a deep, open-mouthed breath, inhaling more than a few tears. Clint wondered if this was what drowning felt like -- water sliding down your throat, the weight of the ocean or your sins bearing down on you. 

He wiped a sleeve across his face, then turned to face Barney.

His brother was nowhere to be found. 


End file.
